


Dreams of My Body

by CuppaGiotto



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Angst, Cop Keith, FBI Agent Lance, M/M, More Ships to come, More characters to come, Multi, Murder, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-27 13:39:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15686526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuppaGiotto/pseuds/CuppaGiotto
Summary: Lance has seen all different sorts of monsters who wear human faces during his time with the FBI. Keith is a detective with the Altea Bay Police Department, and when a series of unsolved missing cases leads to Shiro going missing himself, he'll stop at nothing to get him back, even if it means working with an asshat consultant from the FBI. Their investigation leads them to question what it means to be human, and monster.





	Dreams of My Body

**Author's Note:**

> Lmao sorry for the lame synopsis, I will probably change it as the story progresses. Anyhoo, hope you enjoy!^-^

He saw the dark woods, now. 

The shadows, coiled and spilled over the ground like long, dark ropes. The imposing outline of craggy mountains, the gray stone now a solid black mass in the nighttime. They were the only shadows that remained still and unmoving. It was cold, so everything was as clear as it was during the day. And that was both frightening and a relief.

The pale half shell of the moon and some stars hung in the sky like buttons poorly sewn into thick black fabric. There was a soft wind that blew through the pines, carrying the sounds of night animals; the whoosh of wings from an owl taking flight, and the reedy bugle of far-off elk. 

At night it was easier to hear the woods than see it. 

The trees made it difficult to rely on any light from the moon, but the wind moved through the oaks and sycamores, and the thin wails of far off animals pulled from different directions, a reminder that the forest was just as alive at night as it was in the day. From out of the dark cover of trees stretched a sizable clearing. 

There were milk thistles crowned in purple and the flat whorls of dandelions, all glistening palely under the wet moonlight. It reminded him of another field, another carpet of wildflowers under a blue sky. Warm, calloused hands pulling his own as he toddled forward on the chubby legs. So much laughter.

The long grass carpeting it gave a dry rustle in the wind and he stumbled out into the moonlight, holding out his hands in front of him as if to cradle it there in his palms. The outfit he wore was much too thin for this early spring night, when the snow still clung to the ground, hardened into a thin white husk. Some of his fingernails were split and bloody, and they kept catching at the loose threads in his pants every time he wiped his hands on them. The tear marks had dried considerably. His skin felt tight, aching, as if stretched over a frame of bones and blood that was separated from his actual self. 

He stood still for several minutes. The wind flung his hair about his face and he shivered as it bit into his skin, his unprotected arms and legs raised with goosebumps. He looked up and began to make his way towards a copse of aspen trees down the gentle sloping hill, his arms crossed in an attempt to shield his body from the rapidly cooling air. He could barely feel the crush of grass and weeds against the soles of his bare feet. Under hunched shoulders, muscles were bunching under his skin with tension though he carried nothing with him. 

He had come to understand the difference between lost and loss, after all. 

He came close and and looked about him with wide eyes, mouth pressed into a thin, firm line. It would have been better to hide back in the woods, where the pines and ferns could easily cover a small, shivering body. But the thought of that pressing silence, of waiting in the dark like root or a tomb… no, he would hide out in the open, where he could see everything around him, so he could know what was coming. 

There were some small blue spruce trees and spindly bushes freckled with blue flowers huddled underneath the cover of the aspen grove, and it was beside these he knelt, patting the ground before curling into himself. 

It had been a long night, and it still wasn’t over. 

His ears strained over that soft wind. The clearing was empty, mostly, but he kept so still he had to remind himself to breath. He wished his limbs would become wooden and hollow like the trees around him, or that he could hide underneath the earth like the rabbits and mice that slumbered peacefully through the night. 

Everything here was just surviving. Everything here was just climbing its way towards the sun, sooner or later; the matter that composed flesh scattering and reforming molecules, rejoining the earth or maybe a constellation. Would his memories deposit into the soil if he died? He stared down at the dirt with empty eyes. Another solitary universe, wrapped in stone, in veins of some mineral slowly erased under rain.

He thought, strangely, of the breakfast he’d had that morning. Oatmeal with blueberries and brown sugar. The clothes he’d picked out were for a day where the warmth of the rising sun promised a break from the chill of early spring. His toothbrush and toiletries left strewn on the bathroom counter. The empty bowl left in the sink. Details that seemed so removed from him, now. 

The scent on the breeze changed, if ever so slightly. He lifted his face slowly, his fingers tightening around his legs folded to his chest. It was hard to tell, but, it smelled like… For a second his body seized on a shudder, and he pressed his cheek back down again, trying to make himself as small as possible. Peering into the darkness.

Part of him wanted to be found already.

He was so lonely.

 

 

 

Lance woke with a jolt. 

“We will be descending now from 10,000 feet. The plane will be landing in less than 30 minutes. Please buckle your seat belts and remain seated until we are on the ground. Thank you.”

Damn. He had slept almost the entire way and he didn’t even have a layover. 

He yawned and splayed his long limbs carelessly in a stretch, jostling his neighbor who grunted and eyed him distastefully. After indulging in a well deserved scratch under the armpit, Lance surveyed the mimosas left untouched in front of him. 

He vaguely remembered downing several sleeping pills, but he definitely didn’t remember ordering himself some brunch. Well, waste not want not, right? Something like that. His mama raised him right after all. 

He downed all three cups and considered it a successful plane ride. Instead of panicking and reciting the opening of Beauty and the Beast or pretending to be James Bond about to get laid on another successful mission for M, Lance thanked the power of pharmaceutical drugs to get himself through another plane ride without embarrassing himself.

The last time he was on a plane, he’d clutched the armrests and stared down at his legs with a slightly greenish cast to his face, while Hunk kept a soothing hand on his arm and began to whisper, “Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle. Although he had everything his heart desired…” 

It wasn’t like it was his favorite movie or anything, but the tradition began the first time he was ever on a plane, and his older sister, in a rare show of kindness, put an arm around his trembling shoulders and whispered those very lines until he managed to close his eyes and sleep. 

It was hard to think about his favorite former co-worker not being here with him this time, but he was glad Hunk decided to finally open a small restaurant with his wife Shay. They’d been saving for years, and being in tha’ biz, as Lance put it, certainly put a strain on his sweet and kind hearted Hunk. Hell, he’d known the guy since high school, and even his stupidest puns weren’t enough to make him laugh anymore. 

Lance had made him promise that all bakery items would be subject to his perusal and consumption anytime he stopped by, which had been every single week since Hunk retired. He would stop by more if he weren’t so damn busy all the time, but living in a city with one of the highest crime rates in the country had its disadvantages.

Plus it wasn’t all bad. 

Lance straightened in his seat with an air of smugness and delicately adjusted the collar of his jacket. Like, taking a job as a consultant for the FBI? No biggie. It wasn’t like he was surprised they noticed his hard work. He was more surprised that they didn’t notice him sooner. Which made it their loss, really. 

Lance almost thought of it as a freelancing job… He tried not to chuckle aloud at the memory of Hunk’s face after he came up with that one (it wasn’t even planned either, it was on the spot). 

He picked up the manila folder he’d plopped in front of him before he’d conked out and swiped regretfully at the wet rings left by the cups. He opened to the first page of the file, and stared down at the faces in the photos. 

Lance had a similar picture of himself after he joined the army, his body angled just slightly to the side as he stared on with a wide, toothy grin. This face was much different from his, however. The first time he opened the folder and saw that face, he was struck by the combination of confidence and kindness in his expression. 

The gentle slope of dark almond eyes was offset by the firm upward tilt of his mouth. He had thick, black eyebrows and a strong, chiseled jaw, made endearing by the swath of black hair that fell over his forehead. It was the kind of face, Lance would imagine, that could be seen on some magazine spread or on movie screens if not for the calm confidence his expression commanded. This face belonged to a natural-born leader.

The other face belonged to someone who looked much more mild and sweet. He had a mop of coppery hair and a soft, bookish intelligence under round, wire rimmed glasses. Lance compared the faces, the way the sharp intelligence contrasted with the placid, open mouthed smile of the other… Two different sides of the same coin. Lance could see how they would work well together. This guy looked like the kind of person Lance would have asked to copy notes from in college, someone who would give with expecting to receive anything in return. 

He did not turn the page, however, and fingered the paper clip keeping all the pages together. While he was a relatively shameless person, Lance would never open and look through a file in public, not where just anybody could see. They wouldn’t provide other confidential information until he landed and got to their station.

The man next to him made a gave a muted grunt and Lance quickly snapped the file shut and slid it into his navy shoulder bag shoved under his seat. He wanted another mimosa. Another three. 

He wished there would be some waiting for him at the police department, but they probably just had strong, black coffee and maybe some bagels. He groaned internally at the teasing he would have to endure if he came in with his usual cinnamon dolce frappuccino from Starbucks, but hey, sacrifices had to be made in this line of work. 

The plane shuddered for a moment as they began the climb down. Lance flinched and grabbed his armrests, cursing himself for his not-so-subtle reaction. He always hated that sensation, the feeling that his spine was being pulled out from under him. 

“Delightful,” he said loudly, and slapped a hand over his mouth. He suppressed a noise of mild pain as the plane bounced jauntily on the tarmac, and hoped the guy picking him up from the baggage claim would be kind enough to stop by a Starbucks

“Thank you for flying United Airlines, and please fly with us again.”

Well, double damn. Looks like it's going to be an extra whip kind of day.

 

Today was turning out to be really shitty. It had been a shitty couple of weeks, but today was certainly testing his ability to endure.

“Keith, I asked you to look into Martinez’s file. His body was found a few hours ago and I need you there right now. You should have already left.”

Keith kept staring at the files pulled up on his laptop before slowly turning towards the police captain of the Altea Bay Police Department. He stood imposingly before him with his arms crossed, the air of threat dampened by a thin film of sweat covering the captain’s face after he’d made the trek to Keith’s desk, all with Martinez’s fairly hefty file.

He’d spent enough time in the military to know that refusing to obey his superior was a serious breach of conduct, but he couldn’t seem to stop going through the file. It was like his fingers and eyes flew across the keyboard and screen of their own accord, tugging him towards a conclusion he couldn’t seem to find. 

It was like being in a maze, with only so many silent voices to guide him-those voices being whatever innocuous pieces of evidence he could find pertaining to the case.

“Sorry,” he mumbled absently, before turning back to his computer screen, “will get to it in a minute-“

Iverson leaned forward without preamble and snapped his screen shut, slapping another folder on top of it.

“Minute’s up. Get to work.”

Keith opened the folder and stared at its contents without seeing it. The words blurred against each other, bleeding against the white as if they had been soaked in water. Even the face on the page was a blurry constellation of facial features. He drummed his fingers on his desk in frustration, itching to open his laptop again and discover what he could by going through the facts he’d read through over a million times.

“Geez, take him on a date first before you keep undressing him with your eyes.”

Keith looked up as Pidge trotted over to his desk, arms full of papers and more files. He flushed.

“I’m not-never mind. Did you bring by what I asked?”

Pidge smirked and began thumbing through some files, plucking out a few for his perusal.

“Sort of, it’s not going to be what you asked for. Also, Iverson wants you to pick up that FBI agent person from the airport so you can take him to the scene.”

Keith was already beginning to flip through the files, before he glanced up in irritation. 

“What? But I won’t have time-“

“He said he thinks it might pertain to our killer.” His head snapped up, and he stared at Pidge with a kind of angry desperation. 

“I swear to God, if he’s leading me on another trail of bullshit so I can get his shit done, Shiro and Matt are probably going to rot in the fucking ground at this point and none of us will ever know. We have to find them Pidge, we have to find them fast and he’s sending me to pick up some asshole at their airport. Shiro and Matt don’t have that kind of time!”

“Keith, we’re all working our asses off to make sure that we find them as quickly as we can with the resources we have. The FBI agent is probably an asshole but he’ll also be an invaluable resource. Plus, all of us are practically living off of coffee and shitty bagels at this point, well,” she paused thoughtfully, “not that we haven’t been already, but Iverson hasn’t had a steak in weeks. The man is practically going through red meat withdrawal. It’s no wonder he’s on your ass like this.”

He rubbed his face and kept his hands over his face, hoping she, Iverson, and everyone would be gone by the time he opened his eyes so he could work in some goddamn peace for a change. He was quiet before he spoke.

“Shiro wasn’t just my partner, Pidge. He’s practically been there for almost all the important parts of my life… H-he’s a part of it. He’s my family. My only family..” He looked down at his shoes without really seeing them.

“He would do the same for me, Pidge. And at one point, he was the only person who would. That’s why I have to do everything I possible can to find him.”

“Yeah? Doesn’t seem to be working out too well, has it?”

Stung, Keith smacked his palms on the desk and snarled. Pidge smiled humorlessly.

“We still have to keep working on whatever we find… We can’t afford to have tunnel vision right now and lose sight of what we know of the big picture. And you know, it’s Shiro who taught me that. Even now it’s physically painful to hold myself back from just hacking into every single person’s computer within a five mile radius from here, but I also know-”

“He’s my brother, Pidge,” Keith almost growled, “Blood or not, he’s my brother.”

“You’re not the only who’s worried about their brother,” Pidge said quietly, and Keith immediately felt guilty. 

“Between losing both Shiro and Matt, it’s like I’ve lost two brothers all in one go.” Keith didn’t know how to respond. He blew some air out through his lips, trying not to count the number of seconds that pricked his skin in a warning reminder of the time he was losing. Pidge waited.

“I’m sorry.” He tried searching for more words, and once again winced. He was better at acting and reacting, not with words. Not with the people behind them. It was Shiro who had that almost unearthly ability to connect with others. He was the one who got traumatized children to unload their burdens, who got suspects to confess even their most secret, disgusting of sins. 

“It’s okay,” she said finally, and relaxed. Keith relaxed, too, and chanced a look up at her face. She managed an actual smile, and adjusted her glasses, so similar to her brother’s. Even the same messy, short, coppery hair. They could be twins, really. The opposite of what most siblings who looked alike would want, oddly enough, Keith thought. 

“I’ve been asking myself ‘What Would Shiro Do?’ And I think trying to get into his head like that would be helpful as well as trying to think like him. But I know he would want us to focus on keeping strong as a team while he’s not here right now.” Keith was nodding slowly, but he didn’t want to respond. He was tired of talking. Of talking around Shiro’s absence like he was on vacation or something.

“Thanks Pidge,” he said quietly. Her smile was sad and strained.

“Remember, WWSD, right?” He was looking back down at the documents in his hands now.

“Right.”

Pidge smiled and started to walk away, waving her hand loftily.

“Oh yeah, I got a text from Mr. FBI Hot Shot. He wants to stop at Starbucks before heading into the station. We want him to feel welcome, remember?” 

 

Lance flicked his cigarette idly, his arms crossed as he frowned into what seemed like a wall of rain falling in sheets over the awning of the passenger pick up and drop off area. It was also colder than he expected, and he felt goosebumps ripple under the white button up he wore. The air was thick with rain, and he felt drenched although he was barely even damp.

He looked at his phone and grumbled. Already the person who was picking him was losing points even though he wasn’t even late yet.

But damn it was cold!

There were several texts and a voicemail from the Captain of the police station.

“Agent McClain, this is Captain Iverson from the Altea Bay Police Department. A body was found this morning that I’d like you to take a look at. I’ll send one of my own to pick you up and to allow you to go over the files on the way to the crime scene. Report to me your findings when you are finished.” 

Lance puffed on his cigarette as he listened to the message and rolled his eyes heavenward. This is another reason why he hated flying. There was always some new pressing development happening while he was 10,000 feet in the air passed out from a combination of sleeping pills and airline cocktails. He rubbed his arms again and wished he’d thought to bring a coat. He didn’t imagine the crime scene would be any cozier.

For a brief moment, he let himself pout and miss Hunk’s warm arms before his attention was caught by a sleek, black car with red accents pulled swiftly and quickly up to the curb, like some sort of otherworldly serpent slipping through the fog and wall of water. He blinked as a window rolled down and almost dropped his cigarette.

Hot damn.

He wasn’t even talking about the car either. 

“Are you for me?” He asked dumbly, gaping at one of the most beautiful human beings he’d ever seen outside a page from a magazine.

“Are you Agent Lance McClain with the FBI?” The guy barely blinked his large, intense purple eyes, his finely boned face framed by a messy mop of hair that fell over his forehead and the sides of his face in an attractive way. Lance didn’t move, continuing to gape before he realized the guy was gritting his teeth and vibrating with impatience. Lance managed to recover himself, and stepped up to the car as smoothly as he could, draping an arm above the open window.

“I am if you want me to be,” he smirked at the unblinking gaze, before he flailed back as the window moved back up. He knocked on the glass and waited for him to turn the window down.

“Look man, chill. I was just kidding. I am Agent Lance McClain here to consult for the Altea Bay Police Department. I’m assuming you’re here to pick me up and take me to a crime scene? Unless you were planning on taking me out to dinner, which would be the more preferable scenario in this situation.”

The dude grunted in response and unlocked the doors. 

“C’mon,” he grumbled, “we don’t have much time. Especially if you want to make a stop at a Starbucks,” he spat out the last part forcefully. Lance had opened the backdoor to deposit his luggage and was clambering into the chic, dark interior of the car before he whipped his head over at Keith in shock. He felt his cheeks warm and a tickling at the corners of his mouth that indicated a genuine smile he was trying to hold back. 

This was the man he was going to marry.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you guys think and what questions you have, what you'd like to see-it will really help me write the story. Also, I actually started writing this way back when during season 2 and so the characters will definitely change as we go-when I reread through this I realized Keith sounded a lot more immature than the Keith in my mind. But yeah, that is definitely going to change!


End file.
